


Like a Record, Right Round

by afrikate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrikate/pseuds/afrikate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is pure smut, folks. Sam likes to talk, Dean likes to listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Record, Right Round

**Author's Note:**

> My entry into estrella30's 2006 kink/cliche challenge. Thanks so much to uschickens and cathybites for the beta.

Heavy thrusts hitting that sweet spot over and over again, Sam’s voice low in his ear, warm metal of the Impala beneath him. Just a roadside fuck, both too impatient to wait, and Sam just won’t stop _talking_.

"Look at you, bent over your car, just taking it for me. Yeah, that’s it, take it… Too bad we have to use a rubber, want to lick my come out of you."

Dean, groaning, feeling that _everywhere_ , cock so hard he could come now, but Sam’s got his hands pinned so he can’t _touch_.

"Oh yeah, you like that, don’t you. Tonight I’m going to fuck you, fill you so full—" Sam’s thrusts getting faster now, pleasure making stars explode behind Dean’s eyes, and all the time Sam just doesn’t shut up. "Gonna lick it out of you, your dick hard and dripping, won’t let you come until I say so," oh god, "and maybe then, if you’re good, I’ll let you fuck my mouth—"

And that’s it, Dean’s done, coming so hard he forgets his name, not caring that his jizz is spattering the car. Sam thrusts once, twice more, then he’s coming too, pumping deep.

A minute, two, then Sam’s pulling out, ditching the condom, and Dean’s tucking himself in, straightening himself out.

"Man, you have a mouth on you, little brother."

Sam grins. "Yeah, you love it."

"That I do."

And then Sam surprises the hell out of him. He fights to keep a neutral expression on his face, because Sam’s saying, "I tried that with Jess once," and Dean does not want to know what Sam and Jess did in bed, not at all. But he knows so little about the last two years of his brother’s life that he lives for these scraps of information, turns them over in his head, putting together the puzzle pieces Sam gives him, trying to make memories appear.

"She just started giggling, couldn’t stop. We had to stop, just so she could stop laughing." Dean can’t read that expression _at all_. "Not a turn on for her, I guess."

What can he say here about his brother’s dead girlfriend’s kinks and lack thereof that won’t get him a punch to the jaw or worse? Dean mumbles something, and Sam stares off into the distance. Dean gives him the moment, then pulls out his keys with a shake.

"We should get moving, Sam."

Sam comes back from wherever he’s been, nods, heads over to the passenger side. But he pauses when he reaches Dean, leans in to whisper in his ear, "Three hundred miles ‘til you’re coming on the sheets, huh, bro?" Teeth bite down on delicate skin, and then they’re gone, and Dean is half hard again. Three hundred miles, and Sam’s words are rolling around in his brain, his brother looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but Dean knows he always keeps his word.

* * *

Thing is, Jessica was a beautiful woman. And his brother's always been a horny bastard, despite his innocent act. So, yeah, of course Dean knows they got down and dirty, and in some way he's proud of Sam, because she really was out of his league. But that doesn't mean he wants to _know_. He doesn't have fantasies about Sam fucking Jess, eating her pussy, getting his cock sucked. His fantasies about Sam are a whole lot more personal, a whole lot more likely to feature Sam fucking _him_ , sucking _him_ than any girl.

After that comment, though, his brain just sort of goes there. Without his permission certainly, and he tries to shut it off, really, he does, but he can't. Now he sees Sam and Jess, Sam fucking Jess, boring, vanilla Jess, who couldn't stand to listen to a little dirty talk. In his head he tests out several Jessicas, wonders if she was one of those girls who are quiet and reverent during sex—like it's one of the world's great mysteries. Wonders if she just lay there and thought of England or some shit, though he can't see Sam ever being with a girl for more than one night. He thinks most likely she was one of those girls who's shy about sex, who disappear into their own heads, who guide with gestures, not voices. He has pictures in his head of Jess grabbing Sam's big paws, silently dragging them to her tits, her cunt, hoping he gets the right idea, quiet moans when he does. It becomes too clear, these pictures, and he starts to wonder what it felt like, she felt like, all that golden hair against Sam's skin, how her tits and the skin over her collarbone would taste. Whether or not that vision is truth, it's starting to fuck with his head, make him wonder, make him jealous, and if there is one thing he does not need, it's to be jealous of a dead girl.

It definitely fucks with him; what does it say about him that he loves to hear Sam talk dirty? Hell, he loves it with any partner, but with Sam, hearing the dirtiest filth pour out of that mouth? Yeah, that gets him going every time. What does that mean, he wonders, devotes time to parsing it out while they're driving for hours down tired stretches of road. How much credit can he take, should he take, for corrupting his own brother, for stealing him away from sweet-normal? From a girl who baked cookies and probably lit candles, and all that plain, normal, boring stuff that Sam desired from the moment he stared into a window and realized he wasn't like other kids. It's enough, Dean thinks, to give him a complex.

* * *

The next time Sam's whispering in his ear about how all he wants is to see Dean's lips wrapped around his cock, about what that will look like, what he'll do, Dean freezes, just for an instant. Stops and sees Sam, sees what he looks like, compares it to a snapshot in his head of his kid brother, and nearly, nearly pulls away. But then Sam bites just over his jugular, slips another finger into his ass, and then he's back, bucking and begging, coming a few minutes later. Sam doesn't seem to notice, not when he's pushing Dean down to lick at the head of his cock, not when he's rumbling instructions and encouragement in that low porn-voice of his. Not after, when they lay together, sweat cooling on sticky skin, catching their breath.

When Sam notices, actually, is when Dean twists away a few days later, when he says, "Not now, Sam, we gotta get moving."

And Sam, being the mouthy little shit he is, calls him on it. "We've got two days before we need to be anywhere, Dean. Is there some reason you don't want my tongue in your ass?" Dean blinks, and Sam grins, fierce, and keeps going: "I wanted to bend you over, lick you open, taste your ass before I fill it. You don't want that, Dean? Don't want me to slick up my thumb and hold you open, 'til you can't stay still, 'til you're fucking yourself back on my tongue, begging for my dick? You too good for my dick now, Dean? We got somewhere to be that's that important?"

Dean is shaking he's so hard, zero to sixty in two seconds, and he just has to shut Sam up, before he comes from his words alone. Sam's still talking, words still pouring out when Dean tackles him to the bed, takes his mouth in a hard, sucking kiss. He's still talking later, when he's got three fingers in Dean's ass, teasing him, making Dean shake and beg in a desperate, hitching voice. He delivers on every filthy promise his mouth makes.

* * *

They’re in the car, Dean's driving, and he shifts in the seat from time to time, feeling that deep burning ache that only comes from being truly, truly well-fucked. He's turned off his brain as best he can, concentrating on the road. The music's turned down low; Sam's slouched in the seat beside him, breathing slow and deep, on the edge of sleep. So it's a surprise when Sam turns his head, says quiet into the dark, "What Jess liked, Dean, what she didn't like. It doesn't matter now. Shouldn't matter to you at all. What we do… It's what we do. No one else."

Dean grunts, not willing to say anything, unwilling to commit to words.

"You like to hear me talk, I like to tell you what I'm going to do. It's fucking hot, man, to see you lose it when I say something. Doesn't have anything to do with anything except the way we're wired."

"Maybe we're wired wrong."

There's a rustle-shrug from Sam. "Could be, man. Could be the quiet ones are wrong. Mostly, it's just different."

"Different."

"Well, dude, you lack in the pussy department, so yeah. Different. And, you know, the advantage is I can have you hard and ready to go after a quick chat on the phone. It's… different."

Different, Dean thinks, all right, he can get behind that. Can see what Sam's talking about, but he wonders how long different can last. How long Sam will enjoy being this different, before he wants some sweet little quiet girl, some normal life. Though he supposes, to Sam, that will be "different" as well. What the hell, he figures, different works, at least for now. And then Sam's voice starts again, rumbling and deep, "Man, when we get to Abilene, I'm going to spread you out, have you riding my dick." He's startled out of his head by that, and looks over at Sam.

"Yeah, little brother? Tell me more."

Six hundred miles and at least two stops to get there, but now Dean's ready to go.


End file.
